


The Taste of Butter

by villan3lle



Category: The Witch (2016)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-22 09:13:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20871779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/villan3lle/pseuds/villan3lle
Summary: A short ~adaptation of the ending of the movie, with a few added bits.





	The Taste of Butter

**Author's Note:**

> Did this as a writing exercise, to explore an established character's inner thoughts and motivations, and thought I would share for anyone who might enjoy it. Spoken dialogue bits are all from the film/screenplay, of course. I haven't edited this, so apologies in advance for any mistakes/typos!

The Taste of Butter:

a Short Adaptation of the Final Scene of

_The VVitch: A New-England Folktale_

Her mother's blood is still drying on her shift when Thomasin awakens slumped over the little wooden table. The soft afternoon sunlight has faded into the cold gloom of twilight and she feels disoriented at first, unsure of where or when she is. The cabin door creaks behind her as the wind blows it open and shut, open and shut and the noise, too much like her mother's dying moans, brings a sharp flash of memory. Thomasin rises from the table and stumbles forward to latch the door closed, to shut out the echoing cries in her mind.

A weary heaviness has seeped into her bones, and her slumber has not banished it. She sits down again at the table. How many meals had she taken here with her mother and father, with Caleb, Jonas and Mercy? How many prayers spoken and secrets kept? Now they are all gone. The ringing in her head had been a torment, and the new silence in the room makes her want to weep. But all of her tears have been spent.

Thomasin lays her head on the table and drifts back into a troubled sleep.

When she wakes this time, the door is open once again. She knows she latched it, knows she wanted to keep out the horrors that lay in the yard, but it stands ajar nonetheless. Night has fully fallen outside. The darkness flows in through the opening and threatens to touch her where she sits. She senses that if this happens, she will not be able to stop whatever comes next.

Thomasin's skin prickles in fear.

From somewhere outside -- the woods? the goat shed? -- comes the sound of gentle chiming. It could almost be mistaken for the wind, but the night is as still as the death that lies all around her. There is something about the sound that makes her want to follow it, to find its source. She had always been a curious child. _'Tis proof of your sinful nature_, her father would say, but he cannot speak anymore. 

She stands and lights a tapered candle, walks to the door, and holds it aloft to peer out into the night. She is still afraid to leave, but the closeness of the cabin suddenly feels suffocating. The inky black corners of the room hide unseen horrors, but the cold air outside is open and free. She casts one final glance over her shoulder at the place where she has lived and suffered, and steps out into the darkness. 

***

The farmyard is barren, the grass wilted and dead. Nothing will grow on this land, and Thomasin has always known it. The corn that her father and brother forced up by sheer willpower was diseased and rotten, inedible. Still, they had eaten of it all. Now she sees that there was never a chance for them here. _What went we out into this wilderness to find?_ Her father's words at the meeting house, the day they were banished. _He sought the kingdom of God and he found his death instead. _Thomasin shivers.

She cannot bear to look at what remains of her parents. She has seen them there already -- her mother, lying still beside the cabin; her father, buried under the woodpile-- she cannot see it again. She does not know where Jonas and Mercy lie, if indeed they are still here, but she finds that she does not care.

_ I be the witch of the wood!_ little Mercy had shrieked gleefully by the stream, all those long days ago. _But she wasn't_, Thomasin thinks, _she never was_. She closes her eyes and breathes in deeply. _'Twas me they accused_. The memory angers her. _Me they maligned and cursed, not Mercy and her thrice-damned goat_. She does not want to remember the events of the morning, but now she can think of nothing but her father's shouting, her mother dragging her by the hair, the goats lying dead by the stable. And the loudest memory -- Jonas and Mercy singing their song to Black Phillip. 

_ Black Phillip_. He is standing by the goat shed, dark horns and shiny coat reflecting the moonlight and the soft flicker of light coming from inside the shed. _'Twas him who bewitched them_. Thomasin is sure of it now. She saw what he did to her father. _But_, a thought creeps into her mind, _was it not to save me?_ The curious feeling stirs in her chest again and she finds herself walking towards the shed, holding her candle before her, its light shining in the goat's coal black eyes.

***

The shed is shabby and falling apart, but the candle casts a warm glow over the broken boards that line the walls. The rushes on the floor make a soft rustling sound as Thomasin's bare feet step across them. She stands before the shadowy form of the goat and does not know how to begin.

"Black Phillip."

Her voice is a hoarse whisper. She swallows and tries again.

"I conjure thee to speak to me. Speak as thou dost speak to Jonas and Mercy."

The goat looks at her, the only sound the gentle snuffling of his nose. She is sure of his part in this and cannot fathom his blank look.

"Dost thou understand my English tongue?"

He tilts his head, but does not speak.

"Answer me!" She is angry now. She has not come here to be ignored, will not abide the goat's silence when it was his dark words that started everything. She has nothing left, her only hope was this creature and if he is just a simple farm animal then he can be no help to her. She turns her head away, steeling herself to leave the shed and walk back to the cabin. She will lay her head back upon the table and sleep. Perhaps she can sleep her life away.

"What dost thou want?" The voice is as cold and deep as a stone well.

Thomasin's heart lifts even as the voice sends shivers of fear up her spine and she turns back. Black Phillip has stepped back into the shadows and his glowing eyes seem impossibly far away. 

"What canst thou give?" Her entire life has led her to this question. She has been made to sacrifice so much, to give up everything for the sake of purity, temperance, and righteousness. But how she has longed to receive. To have what she believes, in her most secret thoughts, she deserves.

"Wouldst thou like the taste of butter? A pretty dress?"

Is that not all that she has wanted since she arrived here with her family? Has she not been haunted by the glass windows of their English house in her dreams during the long harsh winter nights in the wilderness? She has coveted the feeling of cleanliness, comfort, and safety.

"Wouldst thou like to live deliciously?"

There can be no other answer for Thomasin. 

"Yes." 

Her mother would beat her for vanity, but her mother is not here. Her father would beseech her to pray for forgiveness, but he lies dead in the woodpile outside. No one is left who can tell Thomasin what to think or say. They cast her out into the cold, but it is she who still stands, her heart beating fiercely in her chest, stubbornly alive. 

Black Phillip's low, soft voice speaks again. "Wouldst thou like to see the world?"

To see England again... the house that has lived for the past year only in her dreams... the girls that she played with in the churchyard... 

She wants so badly to be with them again. She will wear her new dress and laugh at their envy. She sees them smiling and dancing together, innocent once more. But the smoke from the candle is burning her eyes and the vision fades as she blinks away tears. The spark of childish hope inside her flickers and dies. She knows that she is too changed already. She is not that little girl anymore. Thomasin will have her earthly pleasures, but she cannot look back. _I will go somewhere new, then._

"What will you from me?" She asks, resolutely. The question that will seal her fate. 

Black Phillip's voice is a sly smile in the dark.

"Dost thou see a Book before thee?"

She casts her eyes downward and sees the Book on the floor in front of her. As she peers at it, Black Phillip emerges from the shadows and begins to walk around her. The soft clop of his hooves is replaced by a man's footsteps and Thomasin catches a glimpse of a fine leather boot as the figure steps behind her. A golden spur jangles as He comes to a halt. She can barely breathe and her eyes find the Book again, desperate to look anywhere but at Him. 

The tome appears ancient, far older than any bible she has ever seen, and is bound in red leather. She stretches her hand toward it automatically, then stops abruptly when she sees the streaks of dried blood on her skin. Her mother's blood. And was it Jonas's too? or Mercy's? She does not even remember. She looks more closely at herself; her chest, shoulders, hands... all marked by the crimson drops, the same dark color as the Book. _Is this why He speaks to me?_ Thomasin wonders. _Have I conjured Him to me, truly?_ What blood had Jonas and Mercy spilled to bring Him to them? She shudders. 

There is nothing left to do but to answer.

"Aye." She nods her head towards the Book, still refusing to look behind her. 

The cold voice hisses over her shoulder. "Remove thy shift." 

Fear stops her breath for a split second and she does not know if she can make her hands move to comply. The thin piece of white cloth that covers her is her last connection to the world outside of this shed. To her family, her faith, her virtue. _Who_ _will I be without it?_ But who is she now? God has already forsaken her. If He could abandon baby Samuel, who hadn't even been old enough to think of sin, then what hope was there for her? The blood on Thomasin's skin reminds her that this is her only path forward. 

With shaking fingers, she unties the strings that hold the shift closed at her throat. The cloth falls away from her shoulders, slides down her torso, and pools at her feet. She stands naked before Him, unable to hide any of her blood-marked skin now. Thomasin can feel His breath on her neck.

"I cannot write my name."

She has been afraid to admit it, to seem stupid or useless. Afraid that He will not take her if she cannot sign the Book.

But His voice is calm and reassuring, His breath warming her chilled skin. "I will guide thy hand." 

She lets out a shaky sigh and offers Him her hand as He moves to her side. Black leather-gloved fingers close around her hand and pull her gently towards the Book. She is unafraid now of seeing His face, but it is cast in shadow from the black cavalier hat He wears upon his raven dark hair. He reaches up to the band of the hat and extracts a long, brutally sharp golden pin. She realizes that she will have to sign in blood. _Will it be mine own blood? Will it mix with Mother's? With Jonas and Mercy's?_ So much blood upon her hands and now she must use it to buy herself a future. 

He lowers the pin to her finger but Thomasin does not even feel the sting. He has bent His head towards her and the black feathers in His hat are brushing softly against her face. She closes her eyes, crouches to the floor, and lets herself feel nothing but the warmth of His closeness as her life's blood flows from her finger into the Book. 

***

The night is darker than ever when she leaves the shed, but it is a comfort now. She no longer minds her nakedness. No God has smited her for this indiscretion, and there is no punishment that He could inflict upon her that she has not already suffered. She has been shunned, famished, and persecuted. She has lost friends, family, and home. Who has walked farther in torment than she? Now Black Phillip, a billy goat once more, walks before her, leading her into the forest. When her father forced her onto the boat in England, she had been a fearful child. She will enter into this new life on her own accord. A woman re-born in blood and fire.

A low murmur drifts toward the two figures as they step into the trees, and a thumping beat begins to vibrate in the ground beneath Thomasin's feet. The air has grown lighter and warmer and the voices swell as they move deeper into the woods. 

Black Phillip steps first into the clearing and turns to look back at her, beckoning her forward. There is a circle of women, dancing around a bonfire, voices raised in jubilant chanting. Thomasin is apprehensive, not sure if she will be welcomed here. But then she sees that they are naked and blood-marked, and she feels relieved. _They, too, are like me_. The women stamp their feet heavily upon the ground and the rhythm matches the beating of her heart. 

One by one, the women pick up long sticks and begin to rub a mixture along the wooden surface. It glistens in the firelight. Two of them move apart to make a space in the circle and Thomasin steps forward to take her place. As the women grasp their sticks, they begin to glide upward into the air. Thomasin watches in astonishment. She would not have believed her eyes yesterday, but today she knows better.

_I am that very witch_. She had taunted Mercy with those words long ago. That life is fading from her memory now, but a laugh bubbles up from her chest when she thinks of it. _When I sleep my spirit slips away and dances naked with the Devil_. The laugh erupts from her lips and she feels lighter for it. _I am not sleeping now_, she thinks. Indeed, she is more awake than she has ever been in her life. She is laughing fully now and with each gasping breath she feels the weight of her sorrows leaving her. She looks down and sees that her feet are floating above the ground. She grins as she begins to rise into the air, the campfire and Black Phillip receding below her. Tears roll down her cheeks as she lifts her face to the sky, but they are tears of mirth. Nothing can touch her now, and in this coven she will never be alone again.

***

She cannot know what the coming days will bring, what price she will have to pay for her new life. But it does not matter. For now -- for this night -- her heart is light as a feather. The air is cool on her face, the laughter of women fills the forest, the stars are shining above her, and Thomasin is joyful and free. 


End file.
